


Cuts Right To My Bones (Day Two-Borrowing Clothes)

by providentialeyes



Series: Morston Week 2020 [2]
Category: Red Dead Redemption (Video Games)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Confessions, Love Confessions, Morston Week 2020, Moving In Together, Other, Polyamory Negotiations, Sharing Clothes, Sharing a Bed, non-binary john marston, without the l word tho
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-10
Updated: 2020-08-10
Packaged: 2021-03-06 07:47:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,987
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25829902
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/providentialeyes/pseuds/providentialeyes
Summary: “I’m… Thank you, but we’renot,” Charles says and shifts moves his hand to John’s waist, “I know you…”“What?” Arthur asks hoarsely when Charles trails off.“He would’ve gone to you, if you were awake, if it was just the two of you,” Charles says slowly, “I don’t know why you two try and… Try to hide it, or-”“Hidewhat?”Arthur asks sharply.Too loudly.
Relationships: Arthur Morgan/Charles Smith, John Marston/Arthur Morgan, John Marston/Arthur Morgan/Charles Smith, John Marston/Charles Smith
Series: Morston Week 2020 [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1874179
Comments: 6
Kudos: 53
Collections: Morston Week 2020





	Cuts Right To My Bones (Day Two-Borrowing Clothes)

**Author's Note:**

> Title from [Next to You by Of Rust & Bone](https://open.spotify.com/track/1F0y4yHyvNXUE7DAdqKmsj?si=GjB4cTMaQbmh8Gc9Ua1-GA)  
> charthurston for this one!!

It’s cold. 

Not a blizzard, or a hard freeze, just a bitter chill ripping through the area. 

They don’t have anything moved in, yet, besides the old, slightly-too-soft couch they got on the cheap. 

Boxes line the walls, stacked as high as any of them. 

“Supposed to snow, tonight,” Charles says quietly, shifting his fork through a bowl of takeout, “Or tomorrow morning.”

John makes a pitiful noise from the other end of the couch, already wrapped in a blanket from the truck. 

“You’re the one who didn’t label your boxes,” Arthur says wryly, but he’s trying to remember what’s where himself, living with Dutch and Hosea spared him having the responsibility of moving since he was a teen. 

Charles rolls his eyes slightly and gets up from the couch, taking his dishes to the kitchen.

“Did you use any kinda system?” Arthur asks, nodding towards the unlabeled boxes. 

“... Not really,” John mumbles, “Clothes are in a couple, bathroom stuff… Everythin’ else.”

Arthur rubs his face tiredly, trying to hide his sleepy amusement. 

“Shut up,” John groans and lets himself fall to one side, thumping onto the denim-covered cushion.

“Do you wanna dig out some of my stuff?”

“No, it’s… It’s fine,” John mutters and curls up tighter, fitting himself into the crevices between the cushions, “I’m fine.”

“Uh-huh.”

“John, do you want my hoodie?” Charles calls from the foyer, “It’s right here anyway.”

Arthur sees John perk up slightly, the younger glancing at him before slowly getting up, keeping the blanket around him like a cloak as he shuffles in Charles’ direction. 

Arthur listens to their faint murmuring before there’s a rustling of clothes and John reappears, blanket on his shoulders and Charles’ hoodie to his mid-thigh. 

John looks pleased and far less miserable, hugging himself loosely. 

John climbs back onto the couch in the middle and Charles takes up the other end. 

“Thanks,” John mumbles and looks up at Charles from where he’s slumped. 

Charles gestures with the dresser instructions he’s holding, murmuring absently. 

“It’s fine.”

Arthur’s got the advantage here, out of John’s line of sight, and he can see clearly when John ducks his head into the collar to hide the flush rising to his cheeks. 

\--

“Hey,” Arthur calls around the corner, standing at the bathroom sink with his duffel, “Hey, John?”

“What?”

“C’mere.”

He hears John groan, and bites back a smile as the younger’s muttering comes down the hall to his bathroom, John squinting at him tiredly.

_“What?”_

“You want these?” Arthur asks, holding up a pair of flannel pants. 

John squints at the pants then takes them slowly. 

“Thanks,” John murmurs and moves further into the bathroom, shucking his jeans and pulling on the flannel pants, kicking the denim pile into the corner. 

“We need a hamper,” Arthur says dryly. 

“Mm-hm.”

\--

“Still cold?” 

John doesn’t lift his head, or opens his eyes, but wiggles his hand out of the hoodie to hold up his index and thumb, nearly touching. 

“You’re shivering,” Charles deadpans.

“Well,” John huffs quietly, dropping his hand, “Maybe more than a lil’.”

Charles watches him for a moment, then glances behind himself at Arthur’s sleeping form, the older man’s arm slung over his face. 

“John,” Charles says gently, “Come here.”

John lifts up to blearily squint at Charles, then looks at where the older man is pointing. 

Between himself and Arthur. 

“… I’ll be fine.”

“Do you think he’d rather you get sick?”

“Charles, I ain’t gettin’ sick from one night,” John mutters but struggles to his knees and shuffles behind Charles, carefully fitting himself between the older men, “’Sides, I’ve been colder than this.”

“John,” Charles says flatly, tiredly. 

John tenses slightly then lays back, half on Charles’ ‘pillow’, half on Arthur’s. 

Rather than bickering over who got the couch, they decided to pull all the cushions down and make something of a pallet to share between the three of them. 

Charles shifts, turns over onto his side, facing John. 

“Better?”

“How are you two still warm?” John mutters instead of answering, tugging the blanket over Charles and exchanging half for half of his own, so they’re both under two layers. 

“I’m comfortable, not warm,” Charles says lightly, laying his head back down on the cushion. 

John fidgets a bit nervously, holding too stiff but not still, bending one knee and then the other, lightly knocking against Charles’ legs. 

“Sorry,” John whispers and burrows down into Charles’ hoodie. 

Charles studies him sleepily, then reaches out with intent. 

It startles John into a heightened state of wakefulness, the younger flinching as Charles grabs his waist and rolls him over with hardly any effort. 

“Christ, man,” John mutters and covers his face, breathing out roughly, then taking that air right back in with a sharp gasp as Charles tugs him back. 

His front against John’s back. 

John stares at Arthur’s sleeping form, swallows loudly in the quiet living room. 

“Better?” Charles asks again, lower, smoother and John blinks rapidly at the change in tone. 

The ‘flirt with the bartender and get her number’ or ‘charm the old ladies visiting the ranch’ tone. 

John’s never had that tone aimed at him, but he’s suddenly not so curious as to how it works. 

“… Yeah,” John says thinly and Charles’ hands relax on his waist, one moving up over his head. 

John covers his mouth with the sleeve that’s worn soft, ribbing stretched, stained with ink, smelling like Charles’ preferred soap and cigarettes.

Slowly settling into Charles' hold.

He falls asleep watching the slow rise and fall of Arthur’s chest. 

\--

Arthur, unsurprisingly, wakes up first. 

Stretching up and out with a soft groan, too many joints to count popping throughout his body, knuckles stiff as he squeezes his hands into fists. 

Then slumps back to the ground with a huff, staring up at the ugly popcorn ceiling, grimacing as he weighs the idea of scraping and re-finishing it. 

He turns his head to the side and blinks in surprise at the sight of John and Charles cuddled up together, quirking a brow at the way John’s hugging himself in Charles’ hoodie. 

One of Charles’ hands fisted in the flannel of the borrow pajama pants. 

Arthur’s brows furrow as the surprise and amusement fade. 

Are they…?

Did he not notice that happening right under his nose?

Arthur looks back up at the ceiling, brows firmly furrowed as he mules over the concept. 

It’s not… He doesn’t take _issue_ with it, if he’s honest. 

But he never would’ve assumed that Charles would return John’s little crush. 

It sounds mean when he says it in his head, lips pressing together.

He looks back over and see Charles’ eyes barely open, focused on him. 

“Mornin’,” Arthur says slowly, softly. 

Uncertainly. 

“Morning,” Charles says after a minute, and curls up slightly before relaxing with a small huff, re-adjusting his hold on John. 

“Is that… Is this new?” Arthur asks carefully, gesturing lightly at the two of them. 

“… What?” 

“You n’ John.”

Charles frowns at him for a few seconds then his expression smooths in understanding. 

“He was cold,” Charles says and Arthur tilts his head, humming, lips twitching into a small smile, “ _Arthur_.”

“Yeah, he looks real cold now,” Arthur teases, gesturing at the lack of blanket over them. 

“Arthur,” Charles says quietly, seriously, looking at the older man and then down at John.

“… It’s fine,” Arthur says gently after a moment of tense silence, “Seriously.”

“I’m… Thank you, but we’re _not_ ,” Charles says and shifts moves his hand to John’s waist, “I know you…”

“What?” Arthur asks hoarsely when Charles trails off. 

“He would’ve gone to you, if you were awake, if it was just the two of you,” Charles says slowly, “I don’t know why you two try and… Try to hide it, or-”

“Hide _what?”_ Arthur asks sharply. 

Too loudly. 

John twitches awake in Charles’ arms, face pinching in confusion before his eyes open.

“Mm?” John closes his eyes hard, reaches up to rub them, “Why you yellin’?”

“I was not yellin’,” Arthur mutters and starts to get up. 

John reaches out and grabs his wrist. 

“No fightin’,” John mutters, snuggling down into the cushions and back into Charles, who tenses, “Make up.”

“John, let go-”

“No,” Charles says quietly, “He’s right. And he should be a part of this.”

“What?” John lifts his head to looks back at Charles, then over to Arthur, turning onto his back and pulling out of Charles’ hold to lay between them, “What’d I do?”

“Nothin’, John. Charles, don’t-”

“John, do you like me?” Charles asks quickly, possibly the most flustered Arthur’s ever heard the younger man sound outside of physically dangerous situations. 

John stares up at him with wide, dark eyes, then looks over at Arthur. 

“What the hell were y’all talkin’ ‘bout?” John asks hoarsely. 

“Answer him,” Arthur says, soft and dangerous. 

“No, no, no. Not ‘til you two tell me what the hell is goin’ on,” John says and struggles onto his knees, turning around to look at both of them, “Why am I bein’ woken up and interrogated?”

“You aren’t-”

“You hush if you ain’t gon’ explain,” John says, waggling a finger at Arthur. 

“Arthur thinks we’re together,” Charles says slowly. 

“… Oh,” John says hoarsely, “Oh, ‘cause we were-?”

John visibly swallows then looks at Arthur who’s frowning lightly. 

“Are… Are you mad?” John asks quietly. 

“No.”

“Then why… Why s’it a problem?” John frowns at both of the older men, “Why are we doin’ this right now?”

“Arthur,” Charles says quietly. 

“Don’t,” The older man says softly. 

“Don’t _what?”_ John asks sharply, “The hell are you on about?”

Charles sighs and leans back on one forearm. 

“Come _on,”_ John huffs and reaches out to smack the side of both of their legs, “It’s too early for this bullshit.”

“Don't you?” Arthur asks, “Like Charles?”

John blinks then his expression turns to betrayal, brows furrowed in hurt as he stares at Arthur incredulously. 

Then looks at Charles. 

Swallows. 

Closes his eyes. 

Nods. 

“Oh,” Charles whispers. 

John sits back on his heels and cradles both his hands in his lap, keeping his eyes closed. 

“Now, that’s settled-” Arthur starts to get up. 

“But you like John,” Charles says quickly and John lifts his head, looking bewildered. 

“What?” John makes a face of disbelief, “Charles, I don’t think-”

“John,” Arthur says quietly, expression blank. 

“… Oh,” John says hoarsely, “Wh- Since when?”

“This is a mess,” Charles huffs quietly and Arthur snorts softly, amused. 

Agreeing. 

“But you…” John frowns at Arthur, “Why’d you…?”

“I don’t know,” Arthur sighs and gestures vaguely between John and Charles, “Saw y’all all cozied up and just…”

“Got jealous?” John asks lightly, half joking, half in disbelief. 

“Arthur,” Charles says quietly, “I think you two need to talk.”

“No, no, you-” John shakes his head and reaches out to press down on Charles’ knee, squeezing, “Wait.”

Charles watches him cautiously but doesn’t move to get up. 

“Do you like me?” John whispers, “Or were you just messin’ with me last night?”

“I wasn’t messing with you.”

“Cuttin’ to the quick here,” Arthur says flatly, “We all like each other?” 

“… Yeah,” John says slowly, checking with Charles, “I think.”

“Grief,” Arthur mutters and gets to his feet, holding one hand down to each of them, “C’mon.”

“Arthur, we-” John starts as he lets himself be pulled up. 

“No, food first,” Arthur says. 

“Coffee,” Charles says wryly and pulls himself up with Arthur’s hand, pausing when he’s standing close to the older man, squeezing Arthur’s hand. 

“Ridiculous,” John grumbles and turns away towards the kitchen, “We don’t even have the pans out!” 

“Who needs a pan!” Arthur calls back as he pulls away and rifles through his bag for a sweatshirt, grabs a second one and offers it to Charles. 

“Thanks,” Charles says quietly as he pulls it on and Arthur licks his lips, biting back a smile before nodding and following after John. 

**Author's Note:**

> [my twitter](https://www.twitter.com/gwennolmarie)  
> Munchy is hosting the Morston Week here's more info  
> [Morston Week Twitter](https://twitter.com/MorstonWeek)  
> [Morston Week Tumblr](https://morstonweek.tumblr.com/)  
> And here's [the collection!](https://archiveofourown.org/collections/MorstonWeek2020)


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